Since his betrothal, he’d been too ashamed to visit, too embarrassed to look her in the eye. If he hadn’t gotten half drunk this afternoon to get his courage up, he’d never be here now. “I’m sorry.” He opened his eyes with an effort. “I just—I had to see you.”

“I see.” Her eyes ran over him, and he waited for a look of disgust. But—“It must be important. Sit down.”

“Can—can we go someplace quiet?” He was aware of the other Vestals’ disapproving eyes.

“I must be in public view whenever I speak to a man.” She sat opposite him, white robes falling into place. “Just tell me.”

He sat, cradling his aching head in his aching hands. “I—am—a—worm,” he said carefully. Best to get that out of the way first.

“. . . I see.”

“Are you laughing at me?”

“Oh, no.”

“I don’t blame you.” Morbidly. “I’m dirt. I’m scum—”

“All right, why don’t we stop all the—”

“—and I’m in love with my father’s wife.”

“—name-calling.” She blinked. “Well. That I didn’t expect.”

It was like shrugging off a great thorny weight. He hunched forward, locking his hands around his knees. “I—I don’t know if it’s love. Not love like I ever imagined it. I can’t stop wanting her. She’s more than beautiful; she’s intoxicating. It’s evil. She’s evil. I swear she started it. I know that’s what all men say, ‘she led me on; it was her idea,’ but she did. To get at my father.”

“And does your father know?” Justina’s voice was calm.

“Yes.” He turned his eyes away from the memory. “He found us. I still can’t—can’t look him in the eye.”

“Then she’s won, hasn’t she?” Justina shifted tack when he didn’t answer. “Why the need to confess? Why now?”

“Because it hasn’t stopped. It won’t ever stop. She snaps her fingers, and I come like a dog. She knows it, my father knows it, gods, even my betrothed knows it now—” He ran his fingers through his hair. He had only seen Calpurnia a handful of times since their betrothal feast—and her eyes, regarding him, were always wary. “Oh, gods.”

It all came spilling out: the banquet, the Emperor, the Indian drug, Lepida . . . “I took her, right there on the couch in the middle of the hall. Like an animal. The drug, that was part of it—I hardly knew what I was doing, but that’s no excuse. I’m only glad my father wasn’t there to see that part.”

“And what did the Emperor say?” Justina sounded as if she were discussing the weather rather than a palatial orgy.

“He—didn’t notice. He had his mistress there—we were all dizzy from the wine, whatever it was he put into it—”

“His mistress?” Justina’s voice sharpened.

“Lady Athena. Thea. A singer. She’s—she’s a nice girl—and I remember—” He bit the words off. Babbling fool or not, there were some things one didn’t say to a Vestal.

“What? Remember what?”

His head throbbed at her sharp tone. “I don’t know what I remember. Don’t know if it’s right or if I dreamed it up. But—”